But wasn’t he flirting with her? Well, what the heck, he probably flirted with everyone. He had a flirtatious air about him.
“Certainly. We aim to please,” she said, aware of the red flush that was staining her cheeks again. He must have noticed she was blushing, but he didn’t say so.
“Oh? You work here?” He glanced at her curiously.
“What?” she said self-consciously, and took a step back. He probably expected that a place like this would only hire bone-thin fashion models.
“I thought the employees would be dressed a little…well, sexier.” He gestured at a circular rack of negligees.
Oh. It was her frumpy clothes that surprised him, not her girth.
“They don’t make those in my size,” she blurted, then bit her lip. When she did, she noticed his eyes flick to her mouth, and she could swear he took a breath, but that must have been her imagination.
“Sure they do. Look,” he said, and went over to the very plainly marked size 16 section, grabbed a black lace baby doll negligee, and held it up in front of her, critically appraising it. It was see-through and trimmed with frothy layers of lace, and the straps were made of black satin ribbon.
His smile broadened, and the gleam in his eyes turned carnal. Was he actually imagining her in the negligee?
“You should buy it. It would fit you perfectly. Although you probably wouldn’t want to wear it here; it’s a little drafty,” he grinned, and put it back on the rack.
Then he turned back to her, and when he focused on her, she felt as if clouds had melted away and she were bathed in beams of sunshine.
“So, this is your first day, I take it? I’ve never seen you here before.”
At her startled glance, he added “I rent an apartment over the used record store next door. Moved in a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, really? Do you like the neighborhood?” The bakery was in an area of Port Rollins, Oregon, that was being rapidly gentrified, and to the west it was all fancy coffee shops and boutiques and trendy restaurants, but to the east of their location was still a dodgy collection of warehouses and abandoned buildings filled with squatters, all the way down to the bay.
He considered the question. “Overall, yes. The neighborhood’s coming up, although I’d still be cautious, if I were you. Where do you live?”
“In the apartment above the bakery. For the next couple of months anyway, I’m your next-door neighbor.” For some reason, she started blushing again as she said that. She was not imagining the possibilities in her mind. Not, not, not!
“Doesn’t that girl who owns the bakery live there?”
Her smile dimmed. Was he wondering where Penelope was? Of course he was. Penelope had a face like a Botticelli angel and a body that drove men to violate commandments. As soon as Penelope entered the picture, Poppy might as well have been invisible.
“She did, but she got hit by a car last week, and she’s going to be laid up in the hospital for a couple of months, so I came up here to help her out.”
“I heard about that accident. I didn’t realize she was that badly injured. You’re good friends, then?”
She shrugged without answering, dispirited. Okay. He liked Penelope. Big surprise.
But then he thrust his hand forward, with a big, warm grin spreading across his face.
“Rafe McDaniels. Pleased to meet you. I figure I should introduce myself, since I’m going to have you eating out of my hand in a minute.”
Despite herself, she giggled. He had a warm, friendly air about him that put her at ease, which was a miracle, considering the circumstances.
“Poppy Donavan. And my, aren’t you self-confident.”
“And very rarely wrong.”
He grabbed a little plastic spoon from the wicker basket, dipped it into the sample jar and then held it up, with a little red dollop of body butter on it. Then he leaned forward and she found herself parting her lips, and the spoon slid into her mouth, and she sucked on it. It was buttery soft and sweet. The taste of raspberries and cream caressed her tongue, and he stared at her as if he were imagining her writhing beneath him, and hot jolts of arousal crackled through her body, making her shudder involuntarily.
Her panties were wet with her arousal now, and her nipples were as swollen as bing cherries, straining against the fabric of her camisole. Thank God her excitement was hidden by the thick fabric of her jacket.
“Good?” he breathed, in a low, husky voice.
“Ahhh…yes. Very. I recommend it,” she stammered.
“Now, I don’t know if I’d be better off with the fruit flavors, or more of a chocolate theme. Do you mind?”
“Well, I guess I could indulge you. Since you’re a customer.” Her hands were trembling. She clenched them into fists.
He opened up a sample jar of Chocolishis Body Butter, and dipped a tiny spoon in, scooping up a generous dollop. This time, as he brought the spoon forward, she leaned towards it with her lips parted to accept it, and she definitely heard him catch his breath and saw a look of undeniable hunger in his eyes.
Maybe he’d just been making polite conversation about her sister earlier. His face hadn’t lit up the way most men’s did when they talked about Penelope.
Maybe he did want her. Well, what was so crazy about that? Some men liked full figured women. She’d been told more than once that she had a pretty face. She had boobs for days. She had a butt for…months? Anyway, why shouldn’t he want her?
Her confidence swelled inside her. She wasn’t blushing now.
She reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding his hand in place, and then she sucked on the spoon slowly, swirling her tongue on it. Warm, buttery chocolate melted onto her tongue. His eyes locked on to hers and there was raw, naked desire there, the look that two lovers exchange before falling into bed and ripping each other’s clothes off.
She pulled away ever so slowly, letting the spoon slide out of her mouth, and released his hand, without taking her eyes off him for a second.
This was wonderful. This was exhilarating. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun flirting with a guy. Probably never. She felt powerful and in control, knowing that he wanted her.
“I like it,” she breathed in a husky, sensual voice that she summoned from somewhere deep inside her.
“Me too,” he said, his face inches from hers now, lips slightly parted.
And the front door to the shop slammed open, and a tall, furious brunette in skintight designer jeans stomped inside and made a beeline for them. She was skinny as a reed, of course.
“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded.
Chapter Three
Rafe jerked back away from Poppy, with a groan. He’d completely forgotten about Serafina in the car outside. How had that happened?
He knew exactly how. He’d let the voluptuous Poppy suck him into her vortex of sexiness and seduction, and all the blood in his head had rushed to his groin, and…
Damn. This wasn’t like him at all.
He glanced back at Poppy, who had fallen several steps back, and who had a look of raw, naked hurt washing over her face. His stomach twisted in a knot. Damn it to hell, he needed to explain himself to her.
Serefina had folded her arms across her chest and was tapping her foot furiously. “What the hell are you doing in here? You said you’d be RIGHT OUT! I was stuck out there for like an hour!” she snarled.
Not for the first time, he quelled a rising tide of disgust and annoyance, and restrained himself from snapping at her. Typical spoiled rich kid who still acted like a five year old throwing a tantrum because she hadn’t gotten enough toys for her birthday. Life had handed her everything, and she appreciated nothing.
“Since I was in here for less than ten minutes, I doubt that. Let’s go,” he said coldly, and turned to Poppy to apologize and tell her that he’d stop by later – but he was looking at her retreating back, as she hurried across the room and through a door marked “office”, which she slamm
ed shut behind her.
“I said I want to go now!” Serafina snapped again, and Rafe whirled to face her.
“Shall I call you a cab?” he asked, icicles dripping from every word. She spun around and stomped out of the store.
On the street outside, the morning sun was climbing higher in the cloudless blue sky, shining down on the warehouse district. Up and down the street, the neighborhood was coming to life as merchants set up chairs around the tables outside of cafes, rolled up metal gates, and flung open their front doors.
A street musician leaned against the wall of a grocery store, hugging his guitar to his chest, eyes closed, humming a nameless tune. A tall, skinny man in tattered clothing, with a wild-eyed stare, wandered from one parked car to the next, tucking colorful flyers under their windshield wipers.
As Rafe held open the door to his Volvo and she furiously flung herself inside, he turned to give the bakery a long, lingering look before he climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.
What he didn’t know, and what Poppy didn’t know, was that he wasn’t the only one watching Sweet Surrender that morning.
Chapter Four
Poppy heard the bakery’s front door slam as Rafe and his hot brunette girlfriend/fiancé/lover left, but she still waited a couple of minutes before venturing out into the bakery again.
Violet was standing at a display shelf, rearranging the pink-tipped boobsicles. She flashed Poppy a huge grin when she saw her.
“Hey, I was watching you! I don’t know what got into you, but that was hot, at least until that bitch came in. You should do that more often.” She peered at Poppy. “What’s wrong?”
Poppy was shocked to find herself blinking back hot tears. “Oh, nothing,” she said shakily. “It wasn’t him” – which was a lie – “It’s just everything. Finding out that Penelope manipulated me yet again just when I thought she’d finally settled down and started being responsible, and I’m going to be handling giant chocolate phalluses for the next eight weeks, and you know how self-conscious I get, and…”
“Hey, I’m there for ya, babe! You can just do the inventory and the ordering and work the cash register if you want. I can handle chocolate phalluses all day long. Or should that be phalli? What is the plural of phallus, anyway?”
Poppy found herself managing a faint smile, although she still felt queasy at the memory of Rafe abruptly pulling away from her. Viola could always cheer her up.
“I don’t know, Viola, I don’t generally have to deal with more than one phallus at a time, chocolate or otherwise.”
“You should try it some time,” Viola pronounced, grabbing a breast cupcake off a cake stand and biting into it. “Take that out of my salary, by the way. $4.99, plus tax. Oh, don’t look so shocked. There was a band, and the guitarist and the drummer were both totally hot, and I couldn’t decide which one I wanted, so-”
“Lalalala, I can’t heeear you!” Penelope put her hands over her ears and ran to the other side of the store.
“Very mature!” Viola yelled after her. “And that is not the proper attitude for the manager of an erotic bakery! When I tell stories like that, you should be eating them up! Get it – eating them up? Because it’s a bakery? Get it?”
“Yes, Viola, unfortunately I do. And by the way, you have a nipple on your cheek,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, and then she retreated into the office as Viola checked her reflection in the mirrored wall, pulled the cherry nipple from the glob of frosting on her left cheek, and ate it.
Poppy locked the office door, strode behind the desk that was mostly hidden under piles of paperwork, and buried her face in her hands.
She was utterly demoralized by the whole scenario with Rafe, which was ridiculous, because the encounter had lasted for all of a few minutes. It was just that for a brief moment there, she’d felt attractive and desirable and lusted after, and it had been so delightful. And when he’d first looked at her, she’d felt something that she’d never felt before, an instant, sizzling connection to him.
Apparently the connection was only one way.
Well, the hell with it. So a man had flirted with her for the fun of it, without wanting anything more from her. It hurt, but she’d been hurt before, and she always picked herself up and dusted herself off. Her mother had provided her the perfect example when she was growing up – all she had to do was think about what her mother would do, and then do the exact opposite.
Poppy had been five when her mother remarried. Her mother, a wealthy, full-figured young widow, had fallen hard for the handsome con artist who wooed her after her husband’s untimely death. She’d spent a small fortune setting him up in business, and steadfastly ignored his constant cheating, for years.
And she’d been so blindsided when he finally ran off with his skinny secretary that she’d never recovered. Instead she’d starved herself thin to the point where she had to be hospitalized for anorexia, and made a fool of herself begging her errant ex-husband to come home, and let the family business collapse, and viciously lashed out at her younger daughter, Penelope, attacking her for the sins of her father.
Her life was consumed with bitterness and resentment and longing for a man who’d never love her again. Poppy was never going to let that happen to her.
She had work to do. She had responsibilities. She had made her sister a promise, and until she figured out a way to get someone else to replace her and manage this bakery for the rest of the summer, she was going to do this right.
She settled down at the desk and began digging through the teetering piles of paperwork on the desk, searching for the list of suppliers and delivery.
Papers were jumbled together with no rhyme or reason, some of them lying on the floor. Lists of suppliers, and invoices, were jammed willy nilly into the desk drawers. She couldn’t even open one of the desk drawers more than half way; it was stuck shut, and no matter how hard she yanked on it she couldn’t get it open.
She was going to have to spend the next couple of days organizing Penelope’s office and balancing her books, which was no surprise. Penelope was a creative whirlwind who swirled through a room and left chaos in her wake; Poppy was her cleaning lady, running behind her and picking everything up and putting it back where it belonged.
The mental image depressed her.
Outside the room, she heard Viola’s voice raised in anger. “Wire you money? For what? It’s not my fault you got fired. You do not need more guitar strings, for god’s sake, I lent you money for that last week. Of course you can still play the gig. Are you telling me you have no guitar strings at all? Where did the money go? Oh, fine, I’ll –“
Poppy leaped up and ran over to the door and stuck her head out. “Hey! He’s manipulating you again! Do NOT give that little dickwad any more money!”
“Gotta go,” Viola said hastily to her cell phone, and then shut it with a snap. “Great balls of fire, Poppy, did you just cuss? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“He brings it out in me. Your boyfriend is a jerk, and he can earn his own damn money. There, I swore twice, that’s how much he pisses me off. That’s three times! I guarantee you he’s not going to miss his gig. And I guarantee you he’s lying about the guitar strings. Has he ever paid you back any of the money that you lent him?”
“I’d rather not discuss it. You’re right. The wallet is now closed,” Viola said gloomily, then immediately brightened. “Hey, when he dumps me for not giving him any more money, I’m working in a bakery, so I can literally drown myself in frosting! They have a cooking pot in the back that’s big enough – I saw it.”
“That is a very interesting way to look on the bright side. Woops, customers are coming, I gotta hide. I mean do some filing.”
Poppy quickly ducked back into the office and shut the door, shaking her head. Viola was already convinced that Nigel, her guitar player boyfriend, was going to cheat on her during the two months she’d be away helping Poppy with the bakery.
Poppy sincerely hoped so, because then maybe he’d move on to mooch off some new sucker and leave Viola alone. Viola had terrible taste in boyfriends.
Several hours later, Poppy had made serious headway in organizing the office, and with the help of the head baker, Tomas, she contacted the bakery’s suppliers and assured that the necessary deliveries would be made.
Throughout the day, to Poppy’s deep mortification, Viola kept calling her out of the office to meet the store owners from the neighborhood who came in to introduce themselves and tell her they were glad to see the store opened back up again.
Even by mid afternoon, Poppy still blushed every time she had to shake hands next to the giant vagina cake displayed on top of the bakery counter. “Eat me!” was written in frosting on its floury lips.
Smashwords version Sweet Surrender Page 2
